Five ways Annie doesn't return to the CIA
by obedientlittlevictor
Summary: And one way she does. Expanded. Chapter 6 Rated M.
1. The Five (Plus One) Ways

One.

They offer her medals and money and 'missions' and everything she once thought she'd ever want. They want her overt. They don't want a spy. They want a poster child for American heroism.

She tells them to shove it. She tells them to go to hell. She tells them she didn't do this for recognition.

* * *

Two.

They offer her medals and money and missions and everything she once thought she'd ever want. They want her deep cover. Not dead, but very deep.

She accepts. Her first mission is a complicated web of lies. She thinks, _I'm used to that_.

She gets killed in the line of duty.

* * *

Three.

They don't think she's sane enough. Good enough. Trustworthy enough. Maybe that's the worst part too. That she did all this for her country, her Agency, and they say thanks but no thanks.

She gets a generous severance package and a plane ticket out of D.C. It's implied that she shouldn't return.

* * *

Four.

She doesn't know how it's possible, but Danielle forgives her immediately. She doesn't want to lie anymore. So she hops on the next flight to the West Coast.

She kisses Auggie on the cheek and says, "It's too late for heart to hearts," because she doesn't think she has a heart anymore.

* * *

Five.

The metal barrel unsurprisingly tastes like metal. Maybe she should have wrapped a Fruit Roll-Up around it. She always liked the wildberry ones. Too late now.

**Bang.**

* * *

One.

He is there waiting for her when she steps off the plane. She wonders what kind of protocol he is breaking by being there, steady, calm, unwavering. She thinks of the cliched description, _He's my rock_. But rocks break. _Solid like an oak_. But trees get cut down.

He is more powerful than any force of nature. He is the transcendental lighthouse that guides her.

"Welcome home, Walker."

He is _home_.

"I could use your help on a mission," he murmurs into her hair with his arms securely around her.

She smiles. "Really?"

"Only if you're coming back," he smirks because he already knows the answer.

"I'm back."

* * *

**Author's Note: Experimenting with a new style here. What do you think? Thank you for reading and reviewing! **


	2. One

_One._

_They offer her medals and money and 'missions' and everything she once thought she'd ever want. They want her overt. They don't want a spy. They want a poster child for American heroism._

_She tells them to shove it. She tells them to go to hell. She tells them she didn't do this for recognition._

* * *

"The Intelligence Star is the second highest award for valor that is given to operatives of the Central Intelligence Agency who have committed voluntary acts of courage, performed under hazardous conditions and for outstanding achievements or services rendered with distinction under conditions of grave risk. I am honored to present the Intelligence Star to Operative Anne Catherine Walker for her instrumental work in the elimination of the threat that Henry Wilcox presented to the United States of America." The room burst into applause as Annie walked to the front of the room and shook CIA Director Brennan's hand.

Annie didn't bother to smile. There wasn't anyone taking pictures anyway. Maybe if she died on good terms with the CIA, then they would publicize her receipt of this award. Otherwise, it was about as useless as every other award they tried to give her. And they did try to give her an impressive number of awards. _They _being the Director of the Central Intelligence Agency of the United States of America and everyone who had a thousand dollar suit and a hearty career behind them. They offered her a striking sum of money; really, she hadn't seen that many zeros in her life. Not when they were being offered to her, anyway.

The applause was nearly deafening when Annie held the award up for the room to see. Everyone would view her neutral expression as one of shock, rather than one of indifference. No one took notice of Annie discreetly being escorted out of the room by the Director of the CIA and several other seventh floor suits several minutes later.

* * *

The room was filled to the brim with spies, always keen on celebrating an agent coming in from the cold. Except Annie wasn't coming in from the cold; she was coming back from the dead. It didn't seem to matter to any of the people gathered around the free food and drinks, chatting happily among themselves. They didn't even notice that the guest of honor was no longer in the room.

Surprisingly enough, everyone quickly accepted that Annie was alive and well, and instrumental in the take down of Henry Wilcox. Everyone in the building rushed to say they weren't surprised that Annie wasn't a traitor. Tell that to the water cooler gossip that ran rampant in the weeks after Annie was shot. _Typical Annie Walker. I always thought she was too good to be true. I'm not surprised she's a traitor._

"Barber, you see Annie?" Auggie asked his fellow tech operative, clapping him on the shoulder and forcing a smile as Eric Barber swayed unsteadily next to him.

"Man, this party is great. Annie is great. I think I love Annie," Barber slurred. Clearly he was hellbent on enjoying the celebration. Much like everyone else there.

"Yeah, you've had a few beers to toast to Annie. Now where is she?" Auggie tried to mask his irritation. He just needed to find her. They hadn't had a moment together since she got off the plane from LAX nearly a week earlier. Annie was likely being shuffled from polygraph to polygraph. She must have passed if the _Director _of the CIA was congratulating her.

"Wow, I don't know. I haven't seen her yet, except when she was up front, I think. Have I seen her here? She was here, right? I need to say hi. Let me know if you find her," Barber stumbled forward into Auggie's shoulder and laughed. "Hey, man, you know that blonde–"

"Send her my way if you see her." Auggie walked away without saying goodbye. If he didn't know better, he would think that she was avoiding him. But she was probably just avoiding the gathering of gossipy spies.

Auggie could understand why she would want to avoid the entire shebang. She definitely wasn't avoiding him. Well, that's what he told himself anyway. He flicked on his cane and made his way through the crowd, hoping to grab even the slightest hint of her perfume.

* * *

"Ms. Walker, we cannot thank you enough for your service. Your work eliminating the threat of Henry Wilcox was exemplary," Director Brennan praised excitedly. Annie could almost feel his political backgrounds coming in to play. "Your mission will be spoken about as an example to future operatives for years to come."

"Thank you, sir," Annie replied emotionlessly.

"Annie –can I call you Annie?–" He continued without waiting for an answer, "You deserve to be hailed as an American hero." The room full of suits looked expectantly at Annie, as if the Director had just said something profound and worthwhile. Annie probably should have cared more about what he was saying.

"I'm sorry?" Annie drawled slowly.

"You deserve to be hailed as an American hero," he repeated. "We want you to be recognized for your accomplishments. You've been cleared from all accusations of your name, from Copenhagen to Hong Kong. So, there's nothing holding you back from becoming the new face of the CIA."

Annie didn't say a word, but she was silently fuming.

"We want you to go overt. It is quite the honor, being able to publicly state your accomplishments as an operative–"

"I murdered an unarmed man in a dirty back alley in Hong Kong," Annie interrupted with a bored expression on her face. The logical part of her brain told her that that was a bad idea.

"It wasn't just any unarmed man. Henry Wilcox was a terrorist and a threat to our country, the country we all swore to protect and defend with our lives," Director Brennan explained patiently. He acted as if Annie was just playing the part of a humble operative.

"You wouldn't let me return to my covert position, would you?" Annie's voice took a slight edge to it. She knew the answer. They didn't want a covert operative. They didn't want a spy. They wanted a poster child for American heroism.

"I'm offering you a much better position. How else could you showcase your accomplishments? This–"

"You keep talking about my accomplishments. Killing is not an accomplishment. What I did is not something to be _proud_ of. I did what I had to do to keep myself, my friends, and my country safe. But that does not mean I am proud of it." Annie stood up suddenly, causing the Director to startle. She tossed him her medal and he moved his hands up just in time to catch it. "Take this and shove it. All of you can go to hell. I didn't do this for recognition. Consider this my resignation from the CIA. Thank you for all the opportunities," Annie concluded sarcastically and walked out of the office.

* * *

Auggie adjusted his grip on his electronic cane, feeling the pulses that indicated the walls and desks throughout the hall. No one had seen Annie since she received the medal, so he assumed she went home. He didn't let himself remember that "home" for her meant a hotel room until her entire life could be sorted out. Auggie pushed open the glass door of his office and heard a quiet intake of breath.

"Auggie!" Annie gasped.

"Annie," Auggie greeted as he moved toward his desk where he kept his messenger bag. "Patron's in the bottom drawer, but that party of yours sure had some good wine."

"Aug," Annie trailed off, still not sure of what she was going to say. She felt like an idiot, now, getting caught in Auggie's office, about to write a goodbye note.

"Where were you?" Auggie stood uncertainly in front of her, hands fidgeting with his cane.

Annie let out a half-sob, half-laugh. "Telling the Director of the CIA to go to hell."

"Why would you do that?" His stomach churned in anticipation of her answer.

"They wanted me overt. They wanted me to _showcase my accomplishments_," Annie's voice took on an edge of hysteria.

"So you quit?"

"Yeah."

"So you're leaving?"

"Yeah."

"Where are you going?"

"You're a spy. You'll figure it out," Annie breathed. They stood in strained silence for a few moments longer. Auggie opened his mouth, only to close it and take a harsh deep breath.

"I love you, Annie Walker."

"Yeah." Annie stepped forward and kissed Auggie on his cheek. "But you shouldn't. I'm not coming back."

Even though she hesitated, Annie didn't turn around as she walked out of Langley.

* * *

**Author's Note: Thank you for reading and reviewing! I've decided to expand on this story. Each of the original parts is a separate chapter.**

**The Intelligence Star is an actual award, and it is pretty amazing to read the experiences of what real CIA officers have done to achieve it.**


	3. Two

_Two._

_They offer her medals and money and missions and everything she once thought she'd ever want. They want her deep cover. Not dead, but very deep._

_She accepts. Her first mission is a complicated web of lies. She thinks, _I'm used to that.

_She gets killed in the line of duty._

* * *

Annie tried to get comfortable underneath the thin blanket on the private jet Calder had somehow managed to acquire for her 19 hour flight and flipped through the file Calder had given her. He kindly lined up the background of the new cover as closely as possible to the former Jessica Matthews. He warned her that this was a sensitive mission, one that required the utmost concentration. After all, it was a deep cover operation that needed her to leave immediately.

_Hanna Beckett. 34 year old English teacher from Denver, Colorado. _

That is who she would be for the next however long it took for her to take down a Tanzanian terrorist who had a love for fine Italian wine, strong Cuban cigars, and pretty American women. Annie fit the bill for the pretty American woman.

Her cover was teaching English in Zanzibar. She tried to forget the news story about the two British teenagers who taught English in Zanzibar too. They had acid thrown in their faces. Her mission was to get close to Jabari Khalfan, a former soldier turned Islamic extremist all for eliminating infidels. He had reportedly joined the cause of Somalia-based Al-Shabaab that managed to secure a post in Zanzibar. She was to extract as much intel as possible from Khalfan that could help predict the next place of attack by Al-Shabaab and to eliminate any leaders she comes in contact with.

Annie took a gulp of bitter coffee directly from the glass carafe. It had long since gone cold, but the caffeine would help her stay awake. She needed to keep her demons at bay somehow. Coffee and throwing herself into a new mission would help her ignore the fact that she didn't bother to say goodbye to anyone. She shrugged. She was honored to even be considered for this mission so soon. It wasn't like the medal that some Director or another had handed her was going to do her any good. Plus, she'd been "dead" for months; a little while longer wouldn't do any harm.

She should have called Auggie while she still had the chance.

* * *

Auggie stormed in to Calder's office first thing Monday morning. He'd finally managed to hack the personnel files and read Annie's status.

OPERATIVE: ANNE CATHERINE WALKER.

STATUS: DECEASED. TRAITOR.

Still.

Three weeks ago, Calder and some of the higher ups had called an emergency meeting to brief the entire agency that Annie Walker was indeed alive and not a traitor. They should have updated her status by now. Unless they had an ulterior motive that didn't necessitate something as frivolous as changing a status. Like sending her on a dangerous mission undercover.

"I will ask you one more time: where did you send her, Calder?" Auggie's voice trembled in the attempt to keep control. It made the most sense. No one had seen her around the office, which could have been easily explained with her constantly being down in Polygraph. But after flirting with Sharon from Polygraph, Auggie found out Annie hadn't visited there even once.

"Anderson, stand down. I can't tell you. It's a deep cover mission. Ongoing," Calder sighed and ran his hand over his face. "Technically, she's not even CIA. Paperwork and all that." It sounded like a flimsy excuse even to him. The CIA was blatantly exploiting Annie Walker's deceased status for a deep cover mission, despite her not even being fully employed. It felt like a punch to Auggie's gut when he realized that she had been sent on another mission so soon after coming back from the dead.

"You're using her. After everything she did for this agency, you and all the suits on 7 are _using her_!" Auggie shouted in accusation. He began to pace the room.

"Yeah. Yeah, we are, because she is qualified for this mission and we need a blank slate operative. That is what Annie is. That is what Helen was. At least we know Annie's alive," Calder reasoned with an edge to his voice.

"Do you? When was the last time she made contact?" Auggie was scrambling now, trying to get any piece of information possible about Annie.

"Anderson, handle your own shit. This mission is largely above my pay grade. The only reason I was even slightly brought in was because I worked with her in Hong Kong. An unnamed Director wanted to make sure she was sane and secure after the Wilcox shit went down. She doesn't make contact with me."

"Who has her six in all this?" It was his last attempt. Auggie knew that Calder wouldn't, couldn't give any more information. If it was ordered by someone higher than Calder, Auggie probably wouldn't even be able to access the necessary files to find out where Annie is, if that was even in writing, no matter how great of a hacker he was.

Calder let out a deep breath again. "No one. She's entirely on her own." Auggie fought the urge to punch the man as he walked out of Calder's office.

* * *

"Please, please, please." That single word became Annie's ritualistic chant, sent to all of the gods above and below, that they would just kill her. Her pleas were as effective as usual, which meant they were absolutely useless.

Jabari Khalfan was a terrorist, just not in the way that the CIA intel originally believed. He was a hired torture expert for the highest bidder, which just so happened to be in Al-Shabaab the past few times. Originally from Zanziar but quite the world traveler, Khalfan loved the idea of having his expensive lifestyle funded by someone else. He had a skill set that would entice any terrorist organization.

When _Hanna Beckett _started asking too many questions, he dug deeper into her background. Khalfan sent out pictures to his network of established intelligence gatherers, so it didn't take too long to discover _Hanna Beckett _was not who she said she was. One of his trusted sources in the Netherlands heard wind of this American beauty being a spy for the Central Intelligence Agency.

That rumor alone was all it took to collapse the complicated web of lies that Annie had interwoven herself into. Days later, Annie was barely alive, let alone lucid when Khalfan broke out the video camera and the skinny blade, perfectly designed to slice open her pale skin.

* * *

There were few times that Auggie was thankful that he was blind. But when the room took in a collective gasp at the picture that was pulled up on the screen, he didn't feel like he was missing out on anything. Auggie heard someone run to the trashcan in the corner of the room and release the contents of his stomach. Rounds of "No fucking way" and "Oh, god" and "Is that _real_?" circled the room. Auggie had been briefed already, by none other than Calder Michaels, so all he could really do was sit there silently, pondering the cruelty of the universe.

Calder was guilt-ridden about telling the higher-ups that Annie was prepared for this mission. She might have been prepared to return to the CIA, but nothing could have prepared her for the hell that she faced in her last days on earth. Jabari Khalfan sent pictures, videos, proof of death. Calder offered to run the videos in private, but Auggie politely declined. He'd rather not remember Annie's voice as it sounded when she was being tortured to death.

The picture on the screen showed what was left of Operative Anne Catherine Walker, now actually deceased, all of her internal organs out for display. In this picture, Annie's eyes hadn't yet glazed over in death. They pleaded for the mercy and finality that took eternities to end her life.

* * *

OPERATIVE: ANNE CATHERINE WALKER.

STATUS: DECEASED. KILLED IN ACTION.

* * *

**Author's Note: Thank you for reading and reviewing! I love to hear your thoughts.**


	4. Three

_Three._

_They don't think she's sane enough. Good enough. Trustworthy enough. Maybe that's the worst part too. That she did all this for her country, her Agency, and they say thanks but no thanks._

_She gets a generous severance package and a plane ticket out of D.C. It's implied that she shouldn't return._

* * *

"Mr. Michaels, what is your overall opinion on Operative Anne Walker?"

"Annie. Her name is Annie," Calder countered seriously.

"What is your overall opinion on Operative _Annie_ Walker?"

"Sir, we have been here all day. I have already told you this once and I will tell you this until my dying breath: Annie Walker is the most capable agent I have ever encountered. Yes, her methods are unconventional, but that is what makes her so good," Calder sighed in annoyance.

He had been in Polygraph for several hours now, and all the bronze haired Poly Tech wanted to know was what went down in Hong Kong and his thoughts on Annie Walker. It seemed that after being dark for so long, not many at the Agency believed she still had the ability to be a good enough spy for the CIA. Total bullshit, in Calder's high opinion, because Annie singlehandedly took down a terrorist inside the ranks of the CIA, when she herself wasn't even inside the CIA. Or reportedly alive, for that matter.

"Yes, you did mention that before. Now we will move in to questions that should be answered with a simple affirmative or negative. Do you think she's ready to come back in from the cold?"

"She's hardly coming in from the cold, you know. She is coming back from the _dead_. I, personally, have never had the _pleasure_ of experiencing that. Have you?" Calder quipped with a pointed look at the tech.

"Do you think she's ready to come back from the _dead_?" The tech clarified with an edge of exasperation, the first hint of emotion that this man had shown all day.

"Whether or not she's ready, she's coming back. But I do believe she is ready, _yes_. Annie Walker can roll with the punches with the best of them."

"Would you work with her again?"

"In a heartbeat," Calder affirmed.

"So, yes?"

"Yes," Calder drew out and suppressed the urge to roll his eyes.

"Do you trust the lives of your other operatives in the hands of Operative Annie Walker?"

"Yes."

"Do you believe she is physically capable of returning?"

"Well, she didn't go blind, but it's not like the CIA has a tendency to turn away capable operatives," Calder glared pointedly again.

* * *

"Mrs. Campbell, you have been overseeing Operative Walker since she began at the Agency, correct?"

"Yes." Joan knew how these polygraphs would go. If she answered them with a solid 'yes' or 'no', they usually went a lot quicker. Of course, she had had her fair share of angry quips, snarky comments, and outright lies with the Polygraph folks, but in this case, she just wanted to get the whole ordeal over with as quickly as possible.

"There was a period of time where Operative Walker was under Lena Smith, correct?"

"Yes."

"Lena Smith turned out to be a double agent, correct?"

"What are you implying?" Joan's voice lowered with a dangerous edge.

"Answer the question, ma'am."

"Yes, Lena Smith was a double agent for the Russians."

"So, it wouldn't be too out of line to wonder if Operative Walker picked up any of the associations or behaviors of Lena Smith–" Joan swore she saw the Poly Tech smirk– "correct?"

"No," Joan ground out.

"No?" The Poly Tech raised his eyebrow skeptically.

"No, as in you are wrong. It _would_ be out of line to wonder if Operative Walker picked up any of the associations or behaviors of Lena Smith. It is way the _fuck_ out of line. Annie is not a traitor. She did what she had to do to keep Henry Wilcox from destroying even more of the CIA."

"She was dark for a while. She probably had to do some things that the CIA, and the American government, would frown upon."

"That wasn't a question, correct?" Joan snarled at him.

"Do you trust Operative Walker?"

"With my life. With my husband's life. With my _son's_ life. Yes," Joan tried in vain to suppress the anger that must have been visible on her face.

"That's pretty deep trust. You would trust Operative Walker with your newborn son's life?"

"Absolutely."

"Would you trust her with the deepest secrets of America?"

"Yes."

"Do you believe she will be easily swayed? Say, to turn in to the next Lena Smith?"

"Annie Walker is not a traitor."

"But could she become one?"

* * *

"Mr. Anderson, do you believe Operative Annie Walker is mentally and emotionally capable of returning?"

"Yes."

"Are you absolutely sure?"

"Check the fucking polygraph line. Yes, I'm absolutely sure," Auggie snapped.

"Do you believe Operative Annie Walker will be impeded by her PTSD?"

"Who said she had PTSD?" All of Auggie's training came into play at that moment. He knew his microexpressions would be monitored for any sort of reaction.

PTSD allegations were serious. Any operative who returns from extended operations were checked and rechecked to ensure mental stability. If they didn't pass muster, they didn't return to field work, possibly not at all. PTSD was a big red flag against returning to field work, in the CIA world.

"Answer the question with a yes or no."

"I'm not answering that question because I do not have proof that Annie has PTSD."

"She does."

"Was that a question?" Auggie mocked and forced himself to stay seated. It would only be worse for all of them if he let his emotions get the best of him. So, until he was dismissed, he could only dream of flipping the polygraph table and storming out of the room.

"Fine. We can move on. Do you believe Operative Annie Walker can be trusted?"

"Yes," Auggie muttered between grinding teeth.

"What is the nature of your relationship with Operative Walker?"

"Professional."

"Really?"

"Am I lying?" Auggie almost smiled; he could beat a polygraph in his sleep. But this time he was mostly telling the truth. They had no personal relationship, the last time he checked. So, technically, yes, they were professional together.

"The polygraph does not indicate that you are lying. In that case, let's proceed as if you are telling the truth."

"Because I am telling the truth," Auggie actually smiled genially in the direction of the Poly Tech at this.

"What would happen if Operative Walker were to return to the CIA?"

"_If_?" Auggie spit out in disbelief. "Is there any _doubt_ that Annie can return? Where the hell is this doubt coming from?"

"Answer the question to the fullest details, please, Mr. Anderson."

"Answer mine first," Auggie contended defiantly.

"That's not how this works, and I believe you know that. What would happen if Operative Walker were to return to the CIA?"

"The Agency would re-gain a useful, resourceful, brilliant operative and we would all live happily ever after," Auggie snarked.

"And if Operative Walker were not to return to the CIA?"

"Then you're really fucking yourself over. As an Agency, not just you personally. But you can personally go fuck yourself."

"Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Anderson. You are dismissed."

Auggie forcibly ripped off the necessary nodes and tubes strapped to him and stalked out of the room and into the nearest bathroom. Auggie didn't bother to pull the punch he launched into the wall in the men's bathroom on the floor of Polygraph. The resounding crack of his fist through the drywall did nothing to alleviate his anger.

This was bullshit. All of this was bullshit.

* * *

Annie walked out of the office of the Director of the CIA in a daze. She knew logically that she would have to speak to him eventually, but she expected something a little less shitty. A lot less shitty. In fact, in the scenarios she expected, getting a generous severance package and a plane ticket out of D.C. was not even in the top ten of possible scenarios.

Annie was so absorbed in her thoughts that she ran almost square into Calder's chest. He steadied her with his hands on her shoulders. "Walk you out?" he offered. She just shrugged.

"Take it you know all about this, huh?" Annie half-heartedly waved the ticket voucher. It had explicit instructions to leave the city limits by midnight tonight. Three hours. It could go national or international, the Director explained. How kind of the CIA to give her a choice in her own exile location.

"Annie, this isn't how I wanted things to turn out. You know that, right?" Calder murmured carefully.

"I know. I know you did everything you could," Annie replied, any emotions carefully removed from her voice. "Thanks, for that. Thanks for everything, Calder."

"Do you want to say goodbye..." Calder trailed off uncertainly. "I know that ticket voucher says you need to get out of D.C. by tonight at midnight, but maybe I can–"

"No," Annie asserted. "No, my affairs are in order. I've been dead for months, Calder. There's nothing here for me anymore."

Calder disagreed with this. But he was smart enough, or selfish enough, to keep these thoughts to himself. Blatant disagreement with the higher-ups wouldn't be good for anyone. He cleared his throat, suddenly thick with emotions. "Take care, Walker. Wherever you are, take care of yourself. Thank you for your service with the Central Intelligence Agency of the United States of America."

Annie nodded, blinked away the sudden mist in her eyes, and adjusted her duffle bag on her shoulder. She doesn't know where she's supposed to go next. But she was right. There's nothing here for her. Maybe this is the worst part too. That she did all this for her country, her Agency, and they say thanks but no thanks.

* * *

**Author's Note: Thank you for reading and reviewing! I can't wait to hear your thoughts.**


	5. Four

_Four._

_She doesn't know how it's possible, but Danielle forgives her immediately. She doesn't want to lie anymore. So she hops on the next flight to the West Coast._

_She kisses Auggie on the cheek and says, "It's too late for heart to hearts," because she doesn't think she has a heart anymore._

* * *

Annie asks for a phone the second she gets on the private jet to D.C. The nondescript agent in a suit just shakes his head. She tries to make pleasant conversation with him. She tries to politely inquire why she can't have a phone. She tries to plead her case. She tries to scoot closer to try to pick his jacket pocket, but he sees her game and shoots her a stern glare. She is seconds away from knocking him out and stealing his phone when he gets up and walks to the cockpit of the jet, leaving Annie alone with her thoughts and anger.

Annie considers hijacking the plane, but decides to just wait it out. Somehow, she manages to fall asleep, only to be awoken by the nondescript suited agent shaking her shoulder gently what feels like seconds later. She almost rips off his hand. "We're landing, ma'am."

"Can I have a phone now?"

"Ma'am, I'm not authorized to give you access to a phone. There is an individual in the black SUV who _is _authorized," Nondescript Suit replies tonelessly, almost bored. Annie realized he never called her anything but "ma'am." She doesn't ask him if he knows her real name, because does it really matter? She just needs to get to that SUV with the authorized individual with the phone.

Surprisingly, Joan is sitting in the back seat of the unmarked black SUV when Nondescript Suit opens the door for Annie. She sits calmly with her hands folded over crossed knees and greets Annie with an amicable, "How was your flight?"

"Fine." Even to Annie's own ears she sounds short and bitchy.

"I'm taking you to a safe house."

"Can I have a phone?"

"Were you planning on calling your sister or Auggie?" Joan smiles knowingly. For some reason, this bothers Annie.

"Maybe I just wanted to order a pizza," Annie drawls sarcastically. She isn't in the mood to play a game.

"Auggie has been reinstated to his former position in Tech Ops. He is currently running a mission and will not be able to be away from the office for some time."

"And Danielle?" Annie tries to keep the desperation out of her voice. She is pretty sure she was going to call Danielle first, before Auggie, which would explain why Nondescript Suit and now Joan are playing keep away with a telephonic device. It pisses her off. "Or can I not call her?"

"No need," Joan replies shortly. The driver gets into the SUV and puts the car in gear. He drives quickly through the security checkpoints of the back part of whatever airport Annie landed in.

"What does that even mean?"

"It means I've already called her." Annie stares in disbelief at Joan, whose smile has long since morphed into a look of concern at the tone of Annie's voice. "She's meeting us at the safe house."

Annie just looks at Joan before blurting out, "You had no right," surprising even herself at the ice flowing through the car. "You had no right to assume I was going to even _tell_ her I was alive!"

"You were going to tell her," Joan states calmly, like any other fact the whole world would obviously know. "You were going to call her the second you had a chance, whether or not the CIA had cleared it. So I cleared it for you. Danielle has been read in on as much as we could share at this time. She knows that you faked your death to take down a terrorist and that you are a hero. That is what you can tell her. You should not give any details until the Wilcox story breaks the news. Even then, it isn't up to me if you can tell her that."

Annie turns and looks out the window sullenly. She realizes that she's not mad that Joan told Danielle, just that she hadn't had more time to prepare to actually _see_ her sister. The sister who thought she was dead. Who _buried _her. Fuck.

"How'd she take it?" Annie asks in a raspy voice a long while later.

"Surprisingly well."

And that was that.

The safe house is in suburban D.C. When they arrive, Annie takes a deep breath to try to calm her fluttering nerves. Joan reaches over for Annie's hand, but Annie jerks her hand away. "Are you coming inside?"

"No. I think you can handle it from here, Annie," Joan voices gently with a small smile on her face.

"Thanks, Joan." Annie doesn't really know what to do, so she steps out of the car and grabs her black backpack from the floorboards. "You'll be in contact, I assume?"

"Someone from the Agency will be," Joan affirms. She studies Annie for a moment longer, then pushes her hair behind her ears. "Take care of yourself, Annie. I'm sorry."

Annie would think back to those words, later, much later, and realize Joan knew a lot more than she would ever let on. Joan knew that Annie had no intention of coming back before Annie even thought of it.

The moment Annie closes the door to the safe house, she is pulled into the kind of almost uncomfortably tight hug that only her sister can give. They stand there, wrapped in their rocking embrace, sobbing onto each other for what feels like centuries.

"I'm so sorry," Annie gasps between hiccups.

"Come to California with me," Danielle replies determinately. "You have so much to explain to me, and I am so angry with you, but I love you. I love you so much. I forgive you, and the girls will forgive you, and maybe one day even Michael will forgive you," Danielle pulls away to grin at Annie through her tears. "We all love you, and we want you with us. Please come with me."

Annie knows she won't be able to say no.

They put Annie up in a hotel a week later, after Danielle leaves back to California but before Annie has finished debriefs. The debriefs are brutal and vicious and soaked in doubt of her competence even after all she's been through. They tell her she needs to stay in the hotel room, with no contact with anyone besides the CIA, until her last day of debriefing. Annie doesn't bother to argue.

When the Agency tells her they suggest she 'take some time to herself', which everyone knows is code for 'don't bother coming back to the CIA', Annie accepts. She already has plans to send her resignation letter and hop on the next flight out to the Golden State.

* * *

"Annie," Auggie chirps cheerfully when he hears Annie's door open. He is leaning against the hall right outside Annie's hotel room.

"Auggie," Annie replies dispassionately. "I take it you heard about everything?"

"Yeah, I did. Listen, Walker, I'm–"

"Sorry. Yeah, I know. That's all anyone seems to be around me," Annie starts walking down the hall, duffle bag strap draped across her chest. She doesn't bother offering Auggie her arm. Auggie notices this little detail.

"Can I give you a ride to the airport?"

"No, thanks." Again, Annie's voice is completely emotionless. It unnerves Auggie. If he is being honest with himself, her voice alone terrifies him.

"I promise I won't get behind the wheel," Auggie tries to joke.

"Protocol dictates that you shouldn't be seen with me."

"Fuck protocol," Auggie spits angrily as he grabs Annie's elbow. "Annie, this isn't how all of this should have turned out. You deserve better from the Agency."

"I do. But we don't always get what we deserve," Annie mutters and shrugs off Auggie's arm and keeps walking down the long hall.

Auggie knows what she's doing; she is trying to distance herself to make their inevitable separation hurt a little less. He tried the same thing with his own family and friends after he was blinded. It doesn't work. It hurts just the same.

"I know. I know that, seriously? Look at me," Auggie can't help the hysteria that creeps into the edges of his voice as he waves his hand in front of his blind eyes. "I know that better than anyone. Please, Annie."

"I don't know what you want from me. I can guarantee that I can't give it to you, though."

"Stop trying to distance yourself!"

"Can't really help it since I'm moving clear across the country."

Auggie stays silent and listens to Annie's footsteps stop as she turns to look at him. Without warning, she forces him against the wall of the lobby and kisses him hard. He responds; how could he _not_? But he knows this is all a terrible idea. This whole situation is terrible. "Annie," he gasps out.

"I loved you so much, Auggie." Annie chastely kisses him one last time on the cheek and moves out of his reach.

"Let me drive you to the airport," Auggie pleads, trying to ignore the past tense in Annie's confession. "Let's just talk about this, please, just really quickly."

"No," Annie lets a feverish laugh escape her throat. "It really is too late for heart-to-hearts. Don't you see, Auggie? I don't have a heart for you anymore."

* * *

**Author's Note: Thank you for reading and reviewing!**


	6. Five

Five.

The metal barrel unsurprisingly tastes like metal. Maybe she should have wrapped a Fruit Roll-Up around it. She always liked the wildberry ones. Too late now.

**Bang.**

* * *

Annie illegally buys a gun from a skinny Hispanic teenager in a back alley in the worst part of D.C. imaginable. The kid couldn't have been more than 15 years old; professional, courteous, solemn, probably has seen more than his fair share of gang violence, judging by the tattoos. He politely offers to throw in an extra Glock 19 clip, full of bullets, for $20, hardly worth even the price of the bullets included. Annie briefly wonders why he is being so nice.

"Thanks, but I only need one. Actually," Annie trails off as she unloads all but one bullet from the original Glock magazine, "I only need one. Brass don't come cheap." Quite brazen of her, except she has no emotion in her voice.

The kid visible startles as Annie pushes the extra 9mm bullets into his jacket pocket. His eyes widen in a perceptive stare at Annie's dark expression. "Ma'am, I ain't one to question–"

"Then don't." Annie thrusts the wad of cash into his hands. She notices that he doesn't bother to check how much she gives him, whether that is out of trust or shock at the stark implications of _only needing one bullet_. There are really only two scenarios in which one would only need one bullet. Neither seem too pleasant.

"'M sorry," the kid mumbles as Annie turned to walk away, tucking the gun into her jeans as she goes, "For whatever happened."

"Me too," Annie agreed with a single nod and swung her leg over the sleek motorcycle she stole from a parking garage in the city center.

* * *

"Calder? It's Annie," she says calmly.

"Walker, where are you?" Calder would deny it, but a pang of worry flashes through his mind. Annie went completely off the grid less than a day after she landed in D.C. and was set up in her safe house.

"If you don't want the FBI on this, you should send a clean up crew to Rock Creek Park. Trace the phone; I don't really know where I am." Annie promptly hangs up, turns the phone on silent, and tosses it carelessly to the ground before Calder's mind could follow her words, let alone voice his protest. She was selfish, yes. But you could never say she was stupid.

Annie looks out over the Potomac and steels her mind. She is so, so tired. There is no way that she would be able to continue living this life. She can't remember what it was like to not live like this. She just knows that it has to stop. All of it.

That's why she's perched in a tree now, legs swinging below the branches, metal gun pressing into her lower back. She never gave much thought to how she would do it, but she figured the fastest, most guaranteed way would be with a gun. Her mind flashes something about justice. She killed people with a gun. A lot of people. Maybe not as many as some other operatives, but enough. She goes out with a gun the same way. Poetic justice at its finest.

Annie takes one last deep breath, smiling at the fresh scent of pines and the bite of the beginnings of the winter cold. The weight on her shoulders was gone, and all she had left was herself. It was freeing. She can't remember the last time she felt this free.

She closes her eyes and briefly flashes through the faces of those she loved, still loves.

Danielle. Katia. Chloe. Mom. Dad. Ben. Eyal. Simon.

Auggie.

_I'm so sorry._

Annie puts the barrel of the gun in her mouth, teeth clamping down around the black cylinder, finger hard on the trigger. The metal barrel unsurprisingly tastes like metal. Maybe she should have wrapped a Fruit Roll-Up around it. She always liked the wildberry ones. Too late now.

**Bang.**

* * *

**Author's Note: Thank you for reading and reviewing. Only one chapter left. Any thoughts on what you'd like to see in the way I bring Annie back in the next chapter? I love to hear from you!**


	7. Plus One

_One._

_He is there waiting for her when she steps off the plane. She wonders what kind of protocol he is breaking by being there, steady, calm, unwavering. She thinks of the cliched description, He's my rock. But rocks break. Solid like an oak. But trees get cut down._

_He is more powerful than any force of nature. He is the transcendental lighthouse that guides her._

_"Welcome home, Walker."_

_He is home._

_"I could use your help on a mission," he murmurs into her hair with his arms securely around her._

_She smiles. "Really?"_

_"Only if you're coming back," he smirks because he already knows the answer._

_"I'm back."_

* * *

Ever since Annie Walker was a baby, she loved to fly. Few babies liked to fly, including her sister Danielle. Other babies shriek and cry and protest the change in altitude and surroundings. Never Annie, though. She would stare up at her beautiful mother and her stern father and her bawling sister, with all of the wonder in the world.

That is how Annie is taking this flight, long and grueling, from Taiwan to Los Angeles to Washington, D.C. But instead of her mother and father and sister, she stares at three agents of some unknown agency with all of the wonder in the world. It is a miracle, it seems now, that she is alive, that she is able to come back at all, and not in a body bag.

The plane jerks with turbulence and one of the male agents grips the arm rest a bit tighter. The female agent across from him raises her eyebrow at the minute action. Clearly, these agents are trained to pick up on anything and everything.

Annie clears her throat, "Are you CIA?"

Her three escorts glance to each other before turning to her. "Ma'am," the older male agent starts, but the female agent cuts him off.

"Yes," the female agent says simply. Annie smiles slightly, because it was very kind of her to give an actual answer instead of the usual 'We are not at liberty to say.'

"Overt," the woman mentions and Annie's heart drops. Her emotions must be visible on her face because the woman hastily adds, "We will not be escorting you off of the plane when we land in D.C."

"Who is picking me up?"

"We don't have that information, ma'am," the female agent replies. "It will be about another four hours before we land in Los Angeles. You should sleep."

Annie nods, but the woman is already turned back to her iPad. Surprisingly, after she curls further into her seat and pulled the lush blanket up to her chin, Annie is able to sleep. Fitfully, and she is half-awake, and when she does fully wake up when the plane jerked in landing at LAX, she is still tired. But she slept.

_Baby steps, Annie._

* * *

When Annie was little, she always thought of planes as magical time traveling devices. They weren't time traveling; they were place traveling, but to little Annie Walker, it didn't matter. She liked to pretend she was time traveling. Like the time she went to Stonehenge when her father was stationed in England. She took a plane to get there, and the airport was pretty modern, but then she was at Stonehenge, and she knew for a fact that she had time traveled. After every time she visited a castle, via plane, she thanked the plane for being a magical time traveling machine. It was cute for a kid to think that.

When she got older, planes didn't really stop being magical time traveling devices. When she flew from the West Coast to the East Coast for college, she imagined that every kilometer she flew in the magical time traveling plane was another minute, hour, day, forward to a time when she wasn't scarred by the realistic abominations her father had committed and the apathetic lethargy her mother had shown after so many years staying in that sham of a marriage. When she graduated college, she imagined the magical time traveling plane taking her away from the heartbreak of a trust fund white collar player who played her. When she left Sri Lanka, she imagined the time when she wouldn't feel physically sick from heartbreak.

So she did it again. She imagined the magical time traveling plane taking her away from the time when she was nothing and no one, except a cold-blooded killer on several occasions, taking her to a time when she could be someone she is proud of. Each minute in the air solidified her resolve. She is time traveling. To a time when she is Annie Walker, with her bleeding heart, wide open eyes, and desire to help save the entire world. Away from the killer.

"How much longer do we have until we land?" Annie asks, wincing at the croaking of her sleep-coated voice.

"We're approaching D.C. airspace within 10 minutes. Should be about 20 more," the female agent answers again. "Feel rested?"

"Yes, much better, thank you," Annie lies easily.

The woman nods with an unconvinced look on her face. "We have reports of a Mr. Mingus of the American Taxi Company picking you up from the airport," she states quietly before returning to her iPad. The woman must be tired too because she doesn't take note of the electricity that jerks through Annie's body.

_Auggie_.

"Are you sure?" Annie couldn't help but ask. This was definitely against protocol. It had to be against protocol. Shouldn't Auggie still be under investigation for dropping of the grid and helping her when she was dark? _Dead, _her mind corrects her. Calder would still be under investigation, Joan, Arthur probably too, Eric Barber, possibly everyone she has ever had contact with at the Agency to make sure she hadn't turned or they hadn't turned.

"That's what the notice said," the woman drawls. A grin plays at the edge of her lips. "That mean something to you?"

"It means everything to me," Annie answers confidently. The woman smirks and nods knowingly and ignores the questioning stares of her male companions.

Annie looks out the window, the barest hint of the night skyline of Washington, D.C. visible through the clouds. She smiles a real smile for the first time in too long.

* * *

When Annie was in her post-college, pre-CIA time, what Danielle had dubbed 'Annie's Years of Freedom' (how right she had been), Annie did not have a _home_. Sure, she had Washington, D.C., where Danielle and the girls were, but that was more of a collective family location, not a home. Sure, she had a _home base_, wherever her main stay would be, whether that was Colombo or Dublin or Bangkok, as she traveled the towns surrounding. But when Annie thought of _home_, she thought of loud fights and drunken fathers and crying sisters. Or nothing at all.

Annie certainly didn't need a home. She had the entire world to make into a home. She had millions upon millions of pseduo-family members in her pseudo-home. The rest of the world is out there, and Annie had always been determined to see as much of it as possible, to leave her mark in a positive way.

_How naive, Annie._

So now, 10 minutes outside of D.C. airspace, it hits her. Anne Walker, lover of all places exotic and beautiful and worldly, is _coming home_. Home. What a strange concept for her. But that is where she's going. Home.

* * *

The plane jolts to a stop on the darkened runway, far from any structure besides the single black SUV next to the runway. Annie's heart nearly stops when the female agent opens the hatch to the small plane and nods at her.

"You deserve nothing less than everything, ma'am," the agent murmurs as she passes off Annie's bag to her. Annie shoulders the duffle bag with her meager possessions and blinks back tears. A sob threatens to escape when she opens her mouth, so she just nods at the woman.

Auggie is there waiting for her when she steps off the plane. She wonders what kind of protocol he is breaking by being there, steady, calm, unwavering. She thinks of the cliched description, He's my rock. But rocks break. Solid like an oak. But trees get cut down.

He is more powerful than any force of nature. He is the transcendental lighthouse that guides her.

"Welcome home, Walker." Annie lets that sob break her lips and she throws herself at him dramatically. He catches her, solid as usual.

He is _home_.

"I could use your help on a mission," he murmurs into her hair with his arms securely around her.

She smiles. "Really?"

"Only if you're coming back," he smirks because he already knows the answer.

"I'm back."

* * *

**Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who stuck along for the ride! This was an ****exciting little series for me to write, and I hope you all enjoyed it. I might expand some of these into mini-universes, especially if there is enough interest! **


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